Caged
by Candle-lit Dreams
Summary: When Arthur is willing to let magic heal his father, Merlin hears his cage door open. But Uther's death slams the door shut. Arthur blames magic and Merlin fears he will never be free. Merlin finds himself without hope while Arthur finds himself a King without his closest friend. As both struggle with their fears, an enemy of Camelot seizes her opportunity to strike. (No Slash)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Takes place after S4 E3, "The Wicked Day,"_

 _immediately following Arthur's coronation._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin  
_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

"How sadly the bird in his cage

Watches the butterflies."

-Issa-

* * *

Merlin walked quietly within the crowd as it followed Arthur out of the assembly hall towards the coronation banquet. As the echoes of "Long live the King" faded, so did Merlin's smile. Merlin had always thought Arthur's coronation would be a day of joy, a day of peace, a day of freedom. And to an extent, it was. But not for him. Merlin had hoped for years, that today would be the day he could finally show Arthur, show his friends, show all of Camelot who he really was—that he would finally be free of the fear he had lived with his entire life.

But it was not to be. Perhaps never to be. And it was his own fault.

Gaius had told him Uther's death was Morgana's doing, that he should look to the future. Gaius had said Arthur's reign would bring peace and stability to the land. And Merlin _knew_ those things, in his mind. But his heart was having trouble believing them.

He did not doubt that Arthur would be a great King, and would bring prosperity to the kingdom that would have been impossible under Uther's hand. Merlin knew that Arthur would be fair and just, and that his reign would be remembered and revered. And Arthur would not only uphold, but also live by his laws. And (as he had already started to do), Arthur would repeal and rewrite all the old, barbaric and unjust laws.

All except one.

And because of that, here would be no peace and stability for magic. No peace and stability for Merlin.

Memories of the past few days resurfaced, and seemed to make the walls close in around him. They trapped him, denied him the comfort of Gaius's counsel and of the promised Albion. Arthur's words along with his own, jumbled and out of order, ran circles in his mind, ripping his hope and his heart to shreds.

" _I give you my solemn word, that when I am king, things will be different. You won't have to live in fear."_

" _Gaius, if it works, I won't have to hide anymore."_

" _What have you done?"_

" _I wish there was something I could have done."_

" _You've killed him … You will die for what you've done!"_

"… _I am so sorry."_

" _All I know for sure, is that I've lost both my parents to magic."_

" _I wish only to show you that magic can be used for good."_

" _It is pure evil."_

" _I hope, one day, you will see me in a different light."_

" _I'll never lose sight of that again."_

" _He'll never know who I really am."_

Merlin felt tears prick his eyes, and he ducked his head to hide them. With his head down, Merlin bumped into someone and stumbled. Gwaine, who happened to be walking behind, grabbed his shoulder to steady him. They kept walking, though Gwaine kept his hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"Alright there, Merlin?" Gwaine smiled, a roguish glint ever present in his eyes.

Merlin responded in kind, and smiled his characteristic grin, covering his face with the familiar mask. "Yeah, I'm fine." But he had forgotten to flick away the small tears that had leaked from the corners of his eyes.

Fortunately, Gwaine mistook Merlin's tears for ones of joy, and looked towards Arthur, at the head of the crowd. "Don't let Princess see you crying, mate. He'd never let you live it down." Merlin huffed out a small, false chuckle, and wiped his face. Gawain squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "The day we all waited for, eh, Merlin?"

"…Yes, it is."

"We always said how things would be different when Arthur's king, and now he is. And finally, things will be."

"Yes." _No … they won't._

Gwaine slapped Merlin lightly on the back before running up to join the rest of the Knights of the Round Table, who had made their way through the crowd to walk behind Arthur. Merlin's pace slowed, and then he stopped entirely. A few people bumped into him as they shouldered past. Merlin watched as the crowd flooded down the hallway, sweeping his closest friends further and further away—Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, Leon, Elyan, Gwen, and even Gaius, all walked confidently down the corridor, unknowingly leaving him behind.

After a moment, Merlin turned down the servant hallway, while his friends walked straight into the banquet hall. As he picked up a pitcher of watered wine, Merlin felt something inside him shatter. He tried not to wince as he pictured himself shredding his feet on the shards of his broken dreams. He plastered a smile on his face and made his way to the head table. Though he stood right behind Arthur, Merlin felt as if a chasm separated him from his King—a distance so large, that perhaps not even destiny could bridge the gulf between them.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello everyone, and thanks for the read/like/follow/review—whatever you have chosen to do with this story, I appreciate it. The second chapter should be up soon. Almost all of this story is already mapped out, so I hope update pretty regularly.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin  
_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

"The feelings trembled and flapped in his chest like a bird newly put in a cage."

-Rumi-

* * *

Merlin didn't know how he made it through the banquet without completely falling apart, but he managed somehow. Arthur was distracted—everyone was, really. No one noticed that Merlin's smile never reached his eyes. No one noticed his shaky hands. No one noticed at all, they were so caught up in the feelings of the day. And no one need know that Merlin's feelings were different from theirs.

The banquet finally ended, and Merlin helped Arthur to bed. Both men were exhausted, and Arthur was a bit drunk. They were rather somber, and went through their routine in silence. The silence was a little heavy, and Merlin felt he should say something to Arthur—about how he'd be a great King, or how the people were already showing their love and support for Arthur's leadership. But Merlin didn't trust himself to speak. And tonight, he felt as if it would have fallen on deaf ears anyway.

Merlin knew that even though Arthur had been shown to enjoy himself at the feast, that's all it was—a show. Arthur was still grieving, and even with his hopes for a better future, for a new day, he was still hurting. Arthur had been expected to celebrate while still mourning the loss of his father. Merlin felt a sort of kinship in that moment, to know that his smile was not the only one that had been forced that evening. But the differing reasons behind his and Arthur's false smiles drove another spike of guilt into Merlin's chest.

Arthur fell back heavily on his pillows as Merlin began to douse the candles. Once finished, Merlin set down the candle snuffer on the table, and mumbled, "Goodnight, Sire."

"'Night, Merlin." Just as Merlin was about to leave, Arthur called him again. "Merlin?"

Merlin paused at the door. "Yes, Arthur?"

"… I would like a bit of a lie-in tomorrow."

Merlin couldn't see Arthur's face very well in the dark room, but he didn't need to in order to see that Arthur had meant to say something else, but had changed his mind. "Of course, Sire." And with that, Merlin slipped quietly out of the room, and headed home.

The castle's dim corridors were mostly deserted, everyone having rushed to bed once the celebrations had ended. Merlin would have appreciated a few more servants or guards in the halls to help keep his mask on. With no one around to see, Merlin could feel himself losing his composure. His mind was reeling with all that had changed, and with all that would not change.

Uther was dead. Arthur was king, and was on his way to becoming a great one. He had already knighted common men, and even now was holding them in the highest regard, honoring them above the noble knights. Arthur was free to court and marry Gwen, and Camelot would have a strong Queen—strong in her empathy and connection with her citizens. And the people loved their new monarch, had already loved him more than Uther even when Uther still king. They would live well and prosper under Arthur's kind hand. Everyone, Merlin's friends especially, was moving up in the world.

But Merlin was stuck. And he would remain stuck in his place, because Arthur would never forgive, never forget what had happened to his father. He would never welcome magic back to Camelot, and so Merlin would never be more than what Arthur made of him—a bumbling, clumsy servant. Arthur would never know all that Merlin had done for him, had sacrificed for him.

Merlin longed to be free, to truly soar—but he had been born in a cage. As his powers had grown more unpredictable, Merlin had quickly outgrown his small village coop. Though he had been a little apprehensive, Merlin had been filled with an innocent hope when his mother had sent him to Gaius, to help guide and train his magic.

But after moving to Camelot and being shoved into his role as Arthur's servant and protector, Merlin realized he had only swapped one cage for another. But the new cage was more stifling and dangerous than the old one—this cage had bars wrapped in thorns, and chains had been shackled to his feet. As Merlin and his powers grew even stronger, Camelot's cage grew smaller, the thorns sharper, the chains heavier.

When Arthur had given magic a chance to heal his father, Merlin had heard the key turn in the lock and the cage door creak open. He had stretched his wings and could almost taste the fresh air—see his destiny not as a binding chain, but as the liberating bond it was meant to be.

But on that fateful night, when Merlin had felt for Uther's nonexistent pulse, the cage door had slammed shut on him. The thorns had pierced through his wings, and Merlin felt he was slowly bleeding to death. The chains were heavier than ever, and had now wrapped themselves tightly around his chest. The fresh air had been replaced with the smell of decay and despair.

He had been impatient. That taste of freedom had clouded his judgement, and now he had ruined everything. Destiny had been destroyed, and by Merlin's own hand. Magic would remain banned and persecuted, and Albion would never truly live or thrive. And neither would Merlin. Merlin was already dying, his soul crushed and bleeding under the ruins of failed prophecies and broken promises.

He would never fly.

Merlin shook himself from his thoughts. He stopped walking, paused at a window in the corridor, and gazed through the blurry pane at the night sky. As he looked, the window seemed to shrink, and once again the stone walls closed in on him, trapping him in a cold, indifferent prison, and Merlin suddenly found it hard to breathe.

He had to get out. He had to get away, out of the thick, choking air of the castle. Out of the cage of his failure. Merlin pushed himself away from the window and ran towards the entrance hall.

He stumbled on the last few steps into the courtyard, but quickly regained his balance and rushed through the lower town. Merlin was so focused on getting out, he had briefly forgotten about the guards at the gate. He skidded to a stop, but he had already been seen.

The shorter guard called out, waving his halberd in Merlin's direction. "Halt! Where do you think you're going, boy? Or should I call you thief, the way you were tearing through the street?"

The taller guard held his torch up to better see who they had stopped. "Oh, don't be like that, Calder. It's only Merlin." He stifled a yawn before addressing the manservant. "Where are you off in such a hurry, Merlin?"

Merlin swallowed his gasps, turned on his smile, and a lie quickly found its way onto his lips. "I need to gather some rare herbs for Gaius. There's a kind that only blooms in the moonlight, and I already have a late start. Please, I won't be long."

The two guards looked at one another. The tall guard shrugged his shoulders. "I see no harm in it."

"Brenten—" But Calder was cut off by his friend.

"—I certainly don't want to get on Gaius's bad side if he doesn't get his herbs. It should be fine as long as he returns before the guard change." The tall guard, Brenten, turned to face the servant again. "Think you can manage it, Merlin?"

Merlin, who was starting to get antsy, replied quickly. "Yes, of course. I'll be back before you know it."

The short guard, Calder, grumbled but said nothing else. They both raised their halberds out of the way, and Merlin dashed through the now unbarred gate. He sprinted down the dusty road and threw himself into the leafy embrace of the forest.

* * *

 **A/N: First of all, I want to say thank you to all who read, followed, and favorited the first chapter, and a** _ **huge**_ **thanks to those who reviewed. I don't know what I was expecting, but I was more than pleasantly surprised to see how many had visited my little corner of the internet. You guys are awesome.**

 **Chapter 3 is pretty much done, but still needs a tiny bit more polishing. But it should be out soon as well. After that … well, I don't want to spoil you with speedy updates, because I know I will need more time to revise future chapters. So don't get too used to this. Nothing gold can stay, you know. Except for you guys—stay gold, beloved readers!**

 **Posted: 5/10/17**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

"Why did you flutter in vain hope, poor bird,

Hard-pressed in your small cage of clay?

'Twas but a sweet, false echo that you heard,

Caught only a feint of day."

-Walter De La Mare-

(Excerpt from "The Cage")

* * *

Merlin hadn't planned to go far, or to be out for long. He just needed a breather, that's all. But now he had two guards waiting for him to come back, expecting his pockets to be full of herbs. So Merlin set out deeper into the forest, looking for something to bring back with him.

It was only a half moon, so the further Merlin went into the forest, the harder it was to see. Merlin had thought being out in the trees would help ease the trapped feeling, but it had continued to build and build in his chest. The dark canopy twisted above him and spread sinister shadows across the ground. The air seemed to be charged with a tense energy, and all was eerily quiet.

Merlin tried to keep his mind focused on herbs, but his thoughts seemed to be fixed on the mess he had made of everything. He just could not believe how easily his hope had been snuffed out, as if Fate had just leaned down and blown out the candle that was guiding his way. And now he was stumbling in the dark.

For just one moment, everything had been perfect—Uther had woken, and Arthur had smiled down at his father. And in that moment, Merlin had seen the future before him—Arthur became king after a few more years, and the laws were changed. Merlin saw a Camelot filled with light and wonder, magic used freely in the streets and citadel, by adults and children alike. And Merlin stood beside Arthur, his counselor and equal, as both watched over and protected the united Albion.

That moment mocked him now, tormented him with its false anticipation of better times to come. As quick as lightning, those visions of the future darkened, and Merlin now imagined a very different Camelot—one where Arthur continued his father's mission to eradicate magic, and Merlin cowered in the shadows, to forever hide who he really was. Forever play the fool to protect himself. Forever play the dangerous game he had started the moment he set foot in Camelot. Forever risk exposure and execution for protecting those he loved and for simply being himself.

He would live and then die in the cage that was Camelot.

Merlin tripped on a hidden root, and tumbled to the ground. Merlin's arms trembled as he pushed himself up. He clenched his teeth and fists as raw emotions tore through him—sorrow, despair, and fury.

Sorrow at his part in Uther's death and Arthur's pain. Despair at the fading vision of Albion and his denied freedom. But most of all, Merlin felt fury.

Fury at Arthur, for being so blind to everything—to what Merlin did for him, and what good magic could do.

Fury at Uther, who, even in death, cast a forbidding shadow over the truth of the nature of magic.

Fury at Morgana, who was so intent on spreading her hatred and misery.

Fury at himself, for not being careful enough, not being wise enough, not being patient enough.

Fury at how unfair it was, that he had to sacrifice _everything_ for Arthur's sake, for destiny's sake—his friends, his family, his peace, his freedom … even his sanity.

Merlin's magic rose to the surface and boiled inside of him, burning him, begging for release. And without a thought, he let go.

Merlin's eyes flashed a searing gold as he screamed out his grief and anger. The ground trembled beneath him, and cracks shot through earth and spread out from where he stood. Dozens of mage lights, angry red, sprung into existence, lighting up the patch of forest like a bloody beacon. They chased and danced around each other, leaving tails of crimson light behind them. A vast whirlwind spiraled out of the sky, ripping through trees and brush as it tore its way through the undergrowth.

In the sky, clouds rolled into being, turned black, and rumbled. Merlin cried out again, and lightning flashed—the crashing boom came only a second later, and the air crackled with electricity. His eyes burned and his palms grew hot. He held out his hands in front of him, and flames shot out of them, chasing after the whirlwind, the fiery beams igniting any plants left in the path of ruined forest, before being sucked into the cyclone. The storm overhead opened, and hail pummeled the ground before turning into a cruel, biting rain.

Lightning ripped through the air again. Merlin felt energy as he had never felt before surge through his arms and legs, as the trapped feeling in his chest reached a peak. So he ran. His magic lent him grace and speed he had never known, as he bounded through the forest. His mage lights followed him, bobbing and whizzing through the air, guiding his path in pools of red light.

Merlin caught up with his whirlwind, and it burst into nothingness as he charged through it—like a wild boar, eyes filled with confused anger, fixed in a straight line, destroying whatever crossed his path. He kept running and running as his vision tunneled, and his mind focused only on going forward, moving further and further away from everything.

Merlin only stopped when he ran into the lake. The change in his footing surprised him, and he stumbled and fell into the water with a yelp, his mage lights winking out of existence. Merlin quickly surfaced, spluttering and brushing water from his face. He waded back to the shore, the troubled water pulling at his tired feet. As suddenly as energy had filled him before, he now felt it drain from him. He sat heavily on the muddy shore. It wasn't until the storm caught up with him, and as rain jumped on the surface of the lake, that Merlin recognized where he was.

Avalon.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder and saw the trail of destruction his storm and magic had created. He knew he should do something about it. Repair what he had broken. He really should go home, since he had to be back before the guard changed. But he couldn't find it in himself to care about that anymore.

He looked back at the lake, the water churning and angry as it fought with the storm. Another bolt of lightning cut through the air, and the White Mountains lit up for just a moment. But that moment was enough, and certain memories he had been keeping at bay flooded his mind.

" _Mountains."_

" _A few fields."_

" _A couple of cows."_

"… _And a lake."_

Merlin felt the anger bleed out of him. Right in front of him was another painful reminder of what he had lost in the name of a future that now would never be. Merlin wanted to be angry and lash out again, but the rage was slipping away. He couldn't do that here. Not at her lake.

With a whisper and a surge of his magic, the storm began to calm, and the lingering wind died. The rain remained, but it turned from stinging to gentle.

Merlin was completely soaked. He was completely exhausted. And his soul still felt completely trapped in the agony of his failures.

"…Freya? What should I do?"

The only answer to his broken whisper was the sound of distant thunder. The fury gone out of him, only despair and sorrow remained, though they were now coupled with a deep fatigue. Merlin fell onto his side, hugged his knees to his chest, and wept until sleep closed his eyes.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks again for all the support (the favs, the follows, and especially the reviews). Chapter 4 is pretty much done, and Chapter 5 mostly done as well. They still need to go through my revision mill, but I think I have settled into an update schedule. Maybe. I'll make no promises on the matter.**

 **These first three chapters actually began as a one-shot, and the plan was that I was going to end the story here. That would be awful, right? My brain agreed, and this one-shot wonder evolved into a multi-chapter monster. A very angsty monster.  
**

 **Edit: I originally used an excerpt from "Caged Bird" by Maya Angelou for the quote in this chapter, but later realized that her work is not in the public domain. Even if it was only an excerpt, I was worried about typing up so much of it, so I removed it and used a bit of Walter De La Mare's poem instead (which _is_ in the public domain). But the poem "Caged Bird" was a great inspiration for this story, so if you have time, go and check it out.**

 **Posted: 5/13/17**


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin  
_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

"He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."

-Aeschylus-

* * *

Arthur always knew when he was dreaming, though his dreams usually had a rather fuzzy quality to them, and were easily forgotten. But this dream was different, filled with vibrant colors, sounds, even smells—more strange and yet more real than any dream he'd ever had.

Arthur was trapped behind bars and wrapped in chains made of cold iron-thorns. A huge bear paced outside his dingy cell, growling and rattling the bars every so often. The air was stale, and the only light came from a flickering torch across from him, set in the wall near an arched doorway, which Arthur assumed to be the exit. From what he could see of the dungeon, the walls were made with a forbidding black stone that seemed to absorb and pull at what little light there was. It was damp and smelled of decay and mold.

Without warning, his cell door suddenly screeched open, and the Bear lumbered in and swiped at him, leaving long gashes on his ribs. Arthur screamed in fear and pain. The cell door burst off its hinges, and the Bear was thrown against the opposite wall.

Arthur saw his chance and ran from the cell, ripping himself out of his thorny chains. It hurt almost as much as the gashes on his chest, and Arthur's arms were now bleeding great drops of blood, but he kept running. As he sprinted up endless spiraling stairs, each turn became narrower and the steps became steeper.

Things got worse when he suddenly transformed into a little, blue bird. Now in a smaller, more vulnerable body, Arthur's anxiety doubled. His small muscles tensed even more when he heard the Bear roar behind him, and it shook the stone around him. Though the Bear could not possibly fit through the narrow passage, Arthur the bird did not care about nor comprehend that fact. All he knew was that the Bear was conscious, the Bear was angry, and the Bear was after him.

Arthur flapped his pathetic wings, and pain tore through him again. The wounds the Bear and chains had inflicted were still there, had transferred onto his new fragile body. Each flap was agony, but Arthur knew he could not stop until he was free and as far away from the beast as possible.

He flew through a maze of staircases, his pulse rising and flying faster than he was. He finally made it to the top, and flopped into the main castle. Arthur rested a moment, and looked around. The upper castle was a pristine white and completely spotless. All was silent and there was no one in sight. Arthur peeked behind him, at the dungeon staircase he had just escaped. Arthur jumped when another roar shook the castle. Then, to Arthur's horror, the awful moldy smell wafted up the staircase, carrying with it an awful darkness that began to transform the pure white stones into the ugly black rock of the dungeons below. It spilled out of the dungeon mouth like vomit, and Arthur fled the spreading stain of foul blackness.

Arthur feared the darkness was faster than he was, for it seemed to be gaining on him as he darted through the castle. Bars appeared on the windows the darkness touched, and doors slammed shut and locked under its influence. But Arthur saw a tiny window at the end of the corridor, and he pumped his wings harder. He managed to burst through the small frame before the darkness closed in.

Arthur would have sighed in relief, if he hadn't flown straight into the terrible storm just outside.

Lightning flashed all around him, and the booming thunder sounded like tortured screams. The rain battered his weary feathers, and stung his sensitive wounds. And the wind raged, grasping at him with fierce, cold hands, trying to drag him back to the castle—back to the black stones, back to the cell, back to the vicious bear and iron-thorn chains.

But Arthur kept flying, even when dark spots of exhaustion clouded his vision. He flew far away from the now-black castle, but the violent storm seemed to follow him. As he passed over a forest, pillars of fire shot up from the ground, then hail fell on top of him from the sky, and Arthur feared he would never escape.

When a lake came in sight, the storm inexplicably vanished and dropped his tiny body onto the shore. Arthur shook himself, and stretched his bruised, bleeding wings. After a moment, he noticed there was something else, lying further down the shore. He hopped closer, and when he was within pecking distance, his little bird heart stuttered and almost stopped completely.

It was Merlin. The boy was curled into a ball, with one hand was stretched out towards the lake, as if reaching for something. His face was pale, his mouth was slack, and his eyes were closed.

He looked dead.

Arthur, forgetting for a moment that he was still a bird, cried out his servant's name. But only a small, despondent squawk escaped his beak.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you oodles and oodles for the support—for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. When I posted the first chapter, I told myself "Don't expect too much, it's your first story, no one knows who you are, be grateful for any views you get." Well, I was properly blown away by the response I got (and am still getting) from all of you. Your kind words mean the world to this budding writer. So, thank you.  
**

 **That being said, I'm not sure how everyone will react to this chapter. I personally love reading symbolic dream sequences, but I know not everyone does. But the story is going according to my master plan, though Chapter 5 has been giving me trouble. I know I said I had it mostly written in my last author's notes, but I had to scrap several drafts of it, because it was boring (boring to write, boring to read). It's much better now, but I am now a bit behind on my writing schedule. I've also been sick this last week, so that hasn't helped me either. I'm on the mend, so I should be able to spend more time on writing than on sleeping.**

 **I've also noticed that FanFiction has messed up the alignment on the title in each of my chapters. My perfectionist side is demanding that I fix them immediately, but my lazy side is telling me that it's fine, that it's silly to re-upload 3 chapters just to fix the titles. So, I guess they're staying as they are. I may break down and fix them someday. But in the meantime… Pay no attention to the screaming perfectionist behind the curtain.**

 **Edit (6/9/17):** **I broke down and fixed them after a little format experiment in chapter 8. But for those new to this story, rejoice! You won't ever see the sad sight of my titles slowly inching their way towards the far left of the screen every time I post a new chapter. The perfectionist is now content. On this matter, at least.**

 **Posted: 5/17/17**


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin  
_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

"When the storm rips you to pieces, you get to decide how to put yourself back together again."

-Bryant McGill-

* * *

Arthur woke with a rough gasp, the images of his dream still vivid in his mind. The room was dark, and he felt exhausted, so Arthur figured it was still the middle of the night. He absentmindedly rubbed his chest, which ached, as if the wounds from his dreams had followed him into the real world as phantom pains. His head pounded and his stomach rolled in his gut.

His logical side told him to blame the nightmare on the wine and ale from the banquet. Maybe even the stress of all that had happened. But a deeper part warned him not to dismiss the dream. There was something more to it. The more he thought on it, the more unsettled and restless he became.

Arthur was literally shaken from his thoughts as an ominous rumble sounded through the stone of his walls, and then a tremor rippled through the castle. His bed-frame squeaked in protest, and Arthur heard the tinkling of broken glass as a crystal goblet fell from his table. The shields that hung by his fireplace dropped to the floor with resounding clanks, and dust spilled from the ceiling as the quake continued. The shaking grew and grew until Arthur could feel the vibrations thrumming in his chest.

 _What on earth?_

Arthur curled under his blanket, arms folded over his head. He watched through a gap in the sheets as the chairs at his table trembled and then fell on their sides. His wardrobe rocked away from the wall and finally tipped over, crushing his dressing screen underneath it.

Arthur flinched as the sudden clanging of the warning bell sounded over the rumbling. The peals were more chaotic than usual, and Arthur knew it was probably the earthquake that was ringing the bell, and not one of the sentries on duty. This was confirmed when a terrible groaning followed by a deafening crack rang out. The bell gave one more explosive clang that echoed through the citadel, and then was silent. Arthur knew he had just heard the warning bell fall from the bell tower. Arthur could only pray no one had been near it. He could only image at the other damages occurring throughout the castle and lower town.

The lower town.

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face as he thought of Guinevere and the countless others, enduring this quake in their ramshackle homes. Those buildings would never hold, never stand through the tremors. Arthur ripped off his coverlet and tumbled to the floor onto his knees as the earthquake gave one more violent shake.

Not waiting to make sure it was truly over, Arthur gathered two mismatched boots from the mess on the floor, and managed to finagle a shirt out of the splintered wardrobe. He buckled on his sword belt and burst out of his room. He found a few guards hunched and on the ground just down the corridor. Strewn throughout the hall were shards of broken vases and fallen tapestries—some smoking where a torch had spilled out of its bracket on the wall. Arthur gathered the cowering guards, sent a few to herd his knights to the council chambers, and the others to start putting out fires.

Another rumble sounded outside, and Arthur froze. He glanced out the nearest window, fearing perhaps an aftershock was coming. With a blinding flash, lightning tore across the sky, and a resounding boom followed almost a second later. Arthur thought he saw a red patch of light in the distant forest, and feared the lightning had set the trees alight. He stepped closer to the window to get a better look, when a sudden pounding made the roof and windows shudder.

Hail. It was hailing outside. The bits of ice pelted the windows with such force, Arthur was afraid the glass would break. But it didn't, and after a minute or two, the hail turned into rain. The wind howled and wailed and, for a moment, sounded disturbingly like a weeping child. Arthur watched for moment as a vicious storm descended upon the city before he marched down the hall again.

 _As if we needed anything else._

The scene outside had been eerily familiar, and Arthur rubbed his chest as it ached again, and his mind sent images from his disturbing dream racing through his thoughts. As Merlin's pale face flashed in his mind, Arthur shook himself away. He had to focus. He didn't have time to dwell on dreams.

Arthur rushed down the corridors, giving instruction whenever he found guards or servants trembling in alcoves or huddled on the stone floor. So far, Arthur had noticed the damage (both to the castle and the people) had been minimal, or at least not as bad as he had feared. Arthur could only hope and pray that the lower town had fared just as well. But it seemed his vivid dream had strengthened his imagination, and he could not keep the horrible picture of Gwen's collapsed house out of his mind.

Arthur strode into the council room, and was relieved to see that a few knights were already gathered, Leon among them. Leon smiled on seeing his king safe and uninjured. "Sire. What are your orders?"

Arthur looked at the motley group of men, a few still in their nightclothes and all clutching their swords. "Leon, I want you to take some men and assess the situation in the citadel. See if Gaius is alright, and have him start attending to any wounded. He may need to set up the infirmary in the Great Hall, depending on the number and severity of injuries."

Leon nodded and looked at three other knights, who also bobbed their heads in silent agreement to stay and help in the castle.

Arthur continued. "Send someone immediately to the kitchens and anywhere else a fire may have easily broken out. I already have some guards working in a few hallways, but we need more if we don't want Camelot to burn tonight. And … check on the bell tower when you can. See if the sentries there are alright, and assess the damage."

"Of course, Sire." Leon bowed slightly, just as a rumpled Gwaine and Percival rushed into the room.

Arthur gave a small smile at the two of his most trusted knights as renewed hope fluttered in his heart. "Glad you could make it, gentlemen." Taking in the shorter knight's bedraggled and slightly grumpy state, Arthur couldn't help but comment. "I had thought you could sleep through anything, but I guess sleeping through an earthquake would be a bit much, even for you, Sir Gwaine."

"Nice to see you, too, Princess," Gwaine grumbled, and Percival playfully slapped the back of his head.

"He's King now, Gwaine. Show some respect."

Gwaine's eyes twinkled impishly. "Right. My mistake. Nice to see you, too, _Queenie_."

Arthur rolled his eyes. Then his smile faded and turned into a stern line as he focused once again at the task at hand. "The rest of us are to go to the lower town. The damage will be greatest there, and this storm certainly isn't helping. We need to evacuate the people and gather what supplies we can salvage." Looking at his men, all concerned and eager to help, made Arthur's hope rose even higher. They could do this. Everything would turn out all right, somehow.

Leon stepped forward, hesitation tainting his expression. Arthur turned to him. "What is it, Sir Leon?"

"Are you also going to the lower town, my lord?"

Arthur felt a sinking in his gut. "Yes. Why?"

"With all due respect, Sire, we need a leader here—to take charge, give orders, receive reports, and oversee the rescue efforts. You are King now."

Arthur's gut clenched at the implications of those words. Though Gwaine and Percival had just mentioned it, the truth of the matter had not sunk in. He was King. He was no longer Prince or Regent. His father was gone, and now Arthur was sovereign. For a moment, Arthur wanted to argue. This is what he had always done; he had always fought at the front lines, had always dealt with problems in person. He wanted to yell that, yes, he was King, and as his right he could do what he pleased.

But a part of Arthur (the part that sounded like his father) said Leon was right. He knew there were more knights and guards on their way, and they would need someone to tell them what to do, where to go. He could have had someone like Leon do this, but this was his first trial as King; the people needed to see him act as one. He had to be the order amongst the chaos—right now, he could best serve his kingdom by organizing and giving direction. This is what his father had done, and now it was his task.

Though he almost choked on the words, he said them anyway. "You're right, Sir Leon. I will remain and oversee everything from here. But I expect regular reports." Arthur glanced at all his men, before saying, "Dismissed."

The men dispersed, Leon taking a few men and heading deeper inside the citadel, while the rest headed for the courtyard and the lower town. Gwaine lingered only a moment to ask, "Where's your shadow then?"

"What?"

"Merlin. Is he with Gaius?"

At the mention of Merlin's name, Arthur's dream slapped him in the face and dragged him into its murky depths again. It took a moment for Arthur to resurface and answer Gwaine. "Yes. He'll probably be helping with the wounded." Though still treading the water of his troubled thoughts, thinking of one servant made him think of another. As Gwaine turned to leave, Arthur called back to him. "Gwaine? Find Guinevere. Make sure she's alright."

Gwaine gave an understanding smile. "Sure thing, Arthur." Then he jogged to catch up with the others.

Arthur was left alone in the council room. The storm continued to rattle the windows, and lightning flickered sporadically. The emptiness of the dim room was stifling, and Arthur found himself wishing that Merlin wasn't holed-up with Gaius. He could do with some mindless chatter to keep his mind off of everything. And he couldn't help feeling that seeing the man's grinning face would chase away the phantoms of his nightmare for good.

A particularly bright flash jerked Arthur's head towards the windows. Arthur walked over and tried to watch his city through the rain-blurred glass. Just the fact that he was safe and dry in his citadel, while his men and people were fighting the repercussions of an earthquake in the middle of a violent storm, made him feel sick. It didn't feel right to him. He didn't know how his father had done it—staying cooped up in the castle while battles were fought and lives were lost just outside its walls. Sometimes within its walls. Arthur didn't know if he could ever get used to the feeling. He didn't want to.

The council doors opened a moment later, and another handful of men walked in, and Arthur stepped forward to give instruction, but not before he smothered a worried sigh and tried to push down the sick feeling in his gut.

* * *

Arthur felt as if he was suffocating inside. Though not a moment had gone by without someone coming to report to him or receive orders, Arthur felt useless and more restless than he'd ever felt in his life. Though he knew almost exactly what was going on in every part of the city, Arthur chafed at not seeing it for himself. He should be out there, seeing with his own eyes and helping with his own hands. Half of him was filled with an agitated energy that was starting to make him jittery, while the other half was being completely drained with the efforts of organizing the chaos that was prevalent in the citadel.

A welcome break came when a sopping wet Gwaine slipped in and said they had evacuated the lower town, and most of the people were now within the safety of the castle. Arthur looked at his knight, about to voice his desperate question, when Gwaine answered it with a grin. "She's fine, Arthur. She went to help escort the wounded to the Great Hall."

And when Leon—now accompanied with Lord Agravaine—chose this moment to enter the council chambers, Arthur could not hold himself back anymore and found it the opportune time to go and see how the wounded fared. "Ah, Leon. Uncle. Perfect timing. I must go oversee the Great Hall. Leon, please brief Lord Agravaine on the situation and take charge here for the time being."

Agravaine opened his mouth, but whether to accept or dispute Arthur's orders, the young king didn't know, because he was already out the door.

The hallways were a bit crowded and the floors slippery, but whispers of the King's presence parted even the most congested hall. Arthur nodded and offered a few words of reassurance to the people who met his eyes, but most were beyond exhausted and simply moved out of the way.

Arthur entered the Great Hall, and was greeted with the sight of worn cots and weather-beaten citizens sitting on or lying in them. Arthur scanned the room, a smile sprouting onto his face as he spotted the familiar tangle of black curls at the other end of the Hall. He quietly approached her from behind and scooped Guinevere into his arms. She gave a surprised squeak, and then relaxed in his embrace once she recognized him. After a moment, she tried to wriggle out. "Arthur, there are people watching. And I'm soaked."

Arthur finally relented, and let his now-damp arms drop. Gwen turned around, and he saw that her cheeks were slightly red with an attractive blush. Arthur smiled. "And? Is that supposed to bother me?" Still feeling bold, Arthur reached over and brought her hands to his lips and kissed them.

Gwen flushed, eyes darting to see who had witnessed their moment. But after a few seconds, she smiled as she met Arthur's eyes again, and placed a quick kiss of her own on his cheek. "Scoundrel." Gwen beamed at him, and Arthur couldn't help but wrap his arms around her again.

"I'm so glad you're alright."

Gwen squeezed him back, then pulled away. "I really should help Gaius now, Arthur. And I'm sure you have things you should be doing."

Arthur glanced around at the wounded, and the enormity of all that had happened dropped onto his shoulders again. "Yes. I may as well check in with Gaius while I'm here."

The two walked down the narrow aisle between the cots and made their way to the old physician, who was busy fussing over two injured guards. Arthur called out to him, and Gaius raised his head. "Sire." Gaius then peered over Arthur's shoulder, and his brow furrowed slightly with confusion.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see what Gaius was looking at, but saw nothing. "Gaius. How are things here?"

"Well enough, Sire. There have been quite a number injuries, but most are small. I've already finished tending to the more seriously wounded." Gaius wrapped the guard's bleeding arm and tied the bandage off, then moved to the taller guard next to him, who was moaning softly.

Arthur felt his spirits rise even more. "That's good news."

"Yes, it is." Gaius mumbled as he began cleaning the guard's head wound. Gwen stepped forward and helped Gaius raise the man's head as he began to wrap it. "A few townspeople were caught under their collapsed homes, but so far there have been no deaths. I'll have to watch a few very carefully tonight, but we are lucky indeed the casualties were not worse." Though Gaius said this gratefully, his voice had a distracted tone. After a moment, Gaius glanced up at Arthur again, then looked around the room, concern and confusion wrinkling his brow.

Arthur adopted a confused expression of his own. "What's wrong, Gaius? Do you need something?"

"I can go fetch it for you." Gwen gently laid the guard's head down, brushing her hands off as she began to step away from the cot.

Gaius shook his head, then turned back to the wounded man. "No, no. I was only wondering if Merlin had come in with you."

"What?" Arthur's rising spirits plummeted, as he was again accosted with images from his dream. But he could not easily shake himself from them this time. Arthur felt his vision and hearing begin to tunnel, and suddenly he felt like a little bird again, vulnerable and weak. "Merlin's not here?"

Gaius's eyes furrowed more deeply. "No, Sire. I have not seen him since the banquet. I had thought he was with you."

The guard with the head wound, who had been following the conversation with slightly glazed eyes, suddenly cursed. "Hell's bells! Calder—Calder!" He reached over and shoved the shorter guard next to him.

Calder, who had begun to doze off after having his arm tended, twitched and mumbled sleepily, "Shut up, Brenten."

"Calder, did Merlin come back before the quake hit? Did he? I don't know. I don't think he did. Oh gods, I can't remember!"

Arthur knew he was probably overreacting, but his nightmare had put him on edge ever since waking. Arthur grasped Brenten's shoulders, but managed to stop himself from shaking the injured man, whose head wound was obviously keeping him from thinking clearly. But Arthur could not keep the roughness out of his voice. "You've seen Merlin? Where is he? Where did he go?"

Brenten looked up at the King, pain and fear prevalent in his eyes. "Merlin said something about gathering herbs, Your Majesty. He promised he would be back before the guard change. But the tremors started, and then the storm, and I … I forgot about him till just now."

Arthur let him go and brought a fist to his mouth as his stomach churned and writhed inside his gut. His mind was racing, and he couldn't help but compare his nightmare with reality— the Bear's roars had shook the black castle, and then an earthquake hit Camelot. Arthur had flown into a brutal storm, and a similar storm was tearing through his city.

And now Merlin was missing—had been caught outside during all of this. Was Merlin even now, curled on the ground beside a lake, alone, his face bloodless, close to death?

Arthur jumped slightly and came back to himself when Gaius placed a hand on his arm. "Sire, Merlin is a smart boy. He's probably taken shelter somewhere, to wait out the storm. I'm certain he'll turn up once it passes."

Gaius sounded so sure. And normally, Arthur would have believed him, and waited for Merlin to come stumbling back home. But Arthur was already shaking his head. No, not this time. That's not how it would be. When the storm calmed, Merlin would still be lying there on that beach, unresponsive.

"No. No, something's wrong, Gaius. The idiot is in trouble. We ride out at first light, once the storm lets up, and not a moment after. I'm not going to wait and watch safely in my castle anymore."

Arthur strode out of the Great Hall, intent on calling a meeting of his Round Table knights. He knew this was something he had to do himself. He knew he should have been out doing something the moment Leon had questioned his going to the lower town. He would never again let himself be talked into sitting still while any of his people suffered. He could not be that kind of king—a king like his father. He _would not_ be like his father. Not in this aspect. "Never," Arthur whispered under his breath as he entered his council chambers. "Never again."

* * *

 **A/N: I truly appreciate all the favs, follows, and especially the reviews. You guys are the best.**

 **This chapter gave me some trouble, which is why it took me longer to update this time. I don't enjoy writing Arthur as much as I do Merlin, so I don't feel as confident in this chapter as other ones.**

 **I was originally going to have Arthur wait for Merlin to turn up, and then ride out to look for him after a few days (like he always does, the melon-head). But that was taking way too long, and was rather boring. In the first drafts, the dream, earthquake and storm didn't even feature in this at all. (Like I said, it was** _ **very**_ **boring.) I was rereading my previous chapters when it hit me. Duh, Merlin created an earthquake and a crazy storm. In what world would that not affect Camelot, which was perhaps only a mile or two away at the time?  
**

 **Posted: 5/23/17**


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

"They've promised that dreams can come true—but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too."

-Oscar Wilde-

* * *

Arthur found himself back on the lake shore, looking at a still and very pallid Merlin. Arthur was still in the form of a tiny, injured bird, and though the storm had passed, it was still raining slightly.

This time, Arthur looked closely, and to his relief, he could see Merlin's chest moving in a relatively steady rhythm. He was alive. But it didn't look like he would stay that way for long. Merlin's face was even paler than in the previous dream. He was soaked through, and it looked as if the rain would continue for some time. Merlin needed shelter and warmth, now. Arthur squawked in frustration when he realized that as a minuscule bird, he would not be able to do anything useful for the ailing man.

But he had to do something.

There was only so much he could do as a bird, but he did it anyway. He hopped around the lump that was his manservant, squawking and fluttering his tiny wings, even though each flap sent pain shooting through him. He even pecked Merlin's cheek a few times. Nothing. Merlin remained unresponsive.

Arthur contemplated going for help, but he had no idea where to go. He had no idea where he was, and he certainly could not go back to that black castle. And Arthur was still injured and exhausted from his flight. He was not sure he could fly for help even if he wanted to.

Arthur's head jerked towards the forest when he heard loud rustling. His blood froze when a familiar roar burst through the trees. The Bear from the castle had followed him. He heard it, crashing through the woods, ripping down trees, growling and snarling in frustration. Arthur saw that Merlin had also unconsciously responded to the Bear's roars. He had curled in even further on himself, shying away from the sounds, as shivers racked his thin body. But he still did not wake.

Arthur saw the Bear appear at the top of the slope that led down to the lake, tall and menacing. He just knew that once it saw them, it would come and rip both him and Merlin to shreds.

But it didn't.

The Bear came no closer, and Arthur somehow knew that the Bear couldn't see the lake, and, more importantly, couldn't see them on the shore. The Bear's impressive posture crumpled. It slumped onto the ground, and was quiet for a moment. Then it growled again. But this time, it sounded different—more like a whimper, as if it were in pain.

Merlin stirred at the Bear's growl. His eyes fluttered open and he turned his head towards the beast. After the Bear grew silent, Merlin turned away, and closed his eyes again. Arthur hopped forward, and heard Merlin mutter one word before the boy slipped unconscious again.

"No."

" _No? No what? What does that mean? Never mind, we don't have time for this. Get up Merlin."_

Merlin didn't even flinch.

" _For pity's sake, Merlin, you need to get up. You need to find shelter, start a fire—you need to do something, anything! I can't help you like this, so you need to do it. …Merlin?"_

Again, only agitated chirps came out of Arthur's mouth, and Merlin did not respond to them. The Bear whimpered again as the rain picked up, and Merlin shivered, teeth chattering in his sleep. Arthur walked over, and pecked him on the cheek. Again, nothing.

A sense of hopelessness washed over Arthur, and own wounds throbbed more painfully as the rain beat down on him.

He had no idea what to do.

* * *

 **A/N: And Arthur's nightmare continues. Sorry for the short chapter. I didn't even realize it was so short until I glanced at the word count after it was done.**

 **The last week was crazy-busy, so Chapter 7 may be another 4-5 days out. I changed the order of the chapters a bit, so Chapter 8 is already done… but Chapter 7 is still a fledgling. I was really unsure of where to put Chapter 6-8 order wise. I finally settled on this. (Which is why Chapter 8 is done already, because it was originally going to be Chapter 6). I need to buckle down and get back into my writing schedule. But hopefully you won't have to wait more than a week for new chapters—that's the plan, anyway.**

 **Thanks again for your support. I can't tell you how happy it makes me when I get notifications of people following, favoriting, and reviewing my story. (Happy times a billion). \ (^^) /**

 **Posted: 5/29/17**


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.  
_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 7**

* * *

"A great man is one who leaves others at a loss after he is gone."

-Paul Valery-

* * *

Though Arthur wanted to gallop out of Camelot, he knew he shouldn't. The lower town was still quite a mess, and the clean up efforts had only just started. He didn't want to risk injuring the horses—and thus prolong the search even more—because of his impatience to leave the city.

Despite his declaration that they would leave at first light, all of the preparations, reports, and orders that had to be made had delayed them. As much as Arthur wanted to find Merlin as soon as possible, he could not in good conscience leave his kingdom in these circumstances without proper notice and instruction. It was now almost three hours after dawn as they set out to find the missing manservant, though it was hard to tell because of the thick layer of clouds. The sun was weak today, and had only managed a few sparse rays before being swallowed up in the grey expanse that threatened more rain.

Arthur had not slept well—his second nightmare had sapped away any rest he had hoped to get in the few hours of sleep he managed to snatch. The overwhelming sense of hopelessness that had saturated his dream had stuck with him after waking. It rested on his shoulders like a heavy, tangled cloak that he couldn't seem to brush off. And the fact that Merlin had not come bounding back to the castle after the storm had ended, or within the three hours after dawn had tied Arthur's stomach into knots. It only confirmed his belief that Merlin really was in trouble, and could not get back without help.

Arthur glanced back at the citadel and at the men following his lead. He had chosen to take only a small party out, so the rest could remain to help clean and rebuild. Percival and Elyan plodded along right behind him, while Gwaine, who had arrived a bit late, was a few lengths behind. Arthur had tried to convince Gwaine to remain behind—he was clearly fatigued, and had worked himself into the ground last night. But once Gwaine had become aware of Merlin's disappearance, the man could not be persuaded to stay, despite his acute exhaustion.

Agravaine had been left in charge, with Leon also staying to help things run smoothly in Arthur's absence. Arthur felt a little bad for leaving Leon behind, but he was still a little angry at how easily he had been persuaded by Leon to remain in the castle last night. And though he knew he was being ridiculous, he connected that fact with Merlin's dilemma—that because Arthur had not gone out, Merlin was now missing.

Agravaine had also been a bit irritable and edgy, despite having slept longer than anyone else in the castle. For once he seemed reluctant to take charge while Arthur was away. He spoke about a King's duty, and had tried his best to persuade Arthur to remain, and let others hunt after his manservant. But when Arthur had seen the glint of disapproval and disregard in his uncle's eyes, Arthur almost failed in restraining his temper. Leon had looked concerned and apologetic, and quickly cut in, expressing eagerness to help oversee reconstruction and assurances that all would be well while Arthur was gone. Arthur had managed to swallow his anger long enough to leave the room.

His horse sidestepped around some rubble, and Arthur's attention was brought back to the road. As he slowly picked his way down the cluttered streets, Arthur couldn't help but think that this was not how he had imagined his first day as King would go. Dealing with two natural disasters and going after his missing servant might have all been plausible on their own, but all at once? Arthur could not understand how so much had gone wrong in just a few short hours. This was not how it was supposed to be. Arthur regretfully let go of his expectations of beginning his reign peacefully, comfortably. Even a peaceful first month would have been nice, and yet he had not been given the luxury of even one day.

Though he had still been burdened by his father's death, once he had felt the weight of the crown on his brow, Arthur had felt hope. Hope for the future, for the peace and bounty he could bring to his kingdom. He had surrounded himself with good, loyal friends, and Arthur had felt confident that they could accomplish anything together. It had been a new day, and he had believed it would lead to a new time, a new age.

 _And it can. It_ still _can._

Arthur kept telling himself that, though each time he repeated it in his mind, a small cloud of doubt began to cast its shadow over his hope. With everything that had happened, Arthur couldn't help but feel that his new day was slipping out of his hands.

His horse gave a snort and shook its head, and Arthur glanced up from his reflections. They had left the cobblestones of the city and now were trotting down the muddy road. Arthur, who had been hoping they could gallop once outside of the city walls, felt his temper rise when he realized they had to maintain their slow pace, due to the poor condition of the road. The fact that his boots and the hem of his cloak were now splattered with mud did not improve his mood.

Arthur huffed in frustration at the delay. Though this search party had been his idea, Arthur could not help feeling slightly guilty for leaving Camelot in the hands of his uncle on his first full day as monarch. Arthur had entertained the idea that they would only be a couple of hours—or better yet, that they would come across Merlin on his way home—so they could return to the city as quickly as possible. But he knew it would not be that easy. Examining his surroundings, Arthur's frustration peaked when he realized that the rain and storm would have destroyed any tracks left by the missing man, which would make it harder to find him. Arthur knew they would not be returning to the castle before midday, as he had wished.

Arthur grit his teeth, and urged his horse on, trying to keep his irrational anger in check. The two guards, who had let Merlin out of the city gate last night, had given them a general direction of Merlin's route into the forest. Gaius also had given them a list of Merlin's usual herb-picking haunts. But without any clues, any telling marks, it might take the entire day to track down his servant.

After a small trek down the road, Arthur led the group off the muddy track and headed for the trees. The going was slightly easier once off the mire that was the road, but still much too slow for Arthur. They carefully made their way to check the first place Gaius had mentioned.

There was no birdsong that morning. A frigid breeze whipped through the trees, rustling the leaves loudly and making Arthur's damp feet ache with cold inside his boots. Every twig snapped by a hoof made Arthur flinch, as the noise echoed and bounced off the tree trunks. Every sound seemed magnified, and it was putting the young king on edge.

As they entered the large clearing, Arthur knew something was truly wrong. He knew these woods as well as he knew Camelot. There wasn't supposed to a clearing in this part of the woods—there had never been a clearing in this spot in living memory. Although, Arthur hesitated to call it a clearing, since it seemed to be filled with ruined wood and signs of terror and destruction. Only one thing could have done this, and it wasn't a storm or even an earthquake.

 _Magic._

Arthur and his men dismounted and tethered their horses to the trees on the edge of the rough clearing, for they could take them no further. In the center of the bald patch of earth were two vague impressions that Arthur suspected were footprints, and deep cracks spread out from them, almost like a spider's web. Charred remains of trees and brush were scattered all across the ground. The trees that remained at the edge of the marred glade had scorch marks decorating their trunks, burned in strange, weaving patterns. At the other side of the clearing, Arthur saw the destruction continue, forging its own path deep into the forest.

Arthur's thoughts were in disarray. _Was it magic that caused the earthquake, then? And the storm as well?_ Now that he thought on it, the more it made sense. The disasters were no accident, no unlucky coincidence. A sorcerer had caused everything. _Will magic continue to plague me as it did my father? Will this kingdom never know true peace?_

Arthur's thoughts turned dark with worry as he contemplated the sorcerer responsible. With the power to affect—perhaps even control—the elements … to have such power turned against Camelot did not bode well for Arthur's new reign. Though Arthur had to wonder, why hadn't the sorcerer attacked the citadel directly? With such magic at hand, surely he didn't need to do so from confines of the forest. But Arthur had to be grateful he had done so. If it had indeed been a magical quake, if the sorcerer had chosen to initiate it any closer to the city … it did not bear thinking about.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Arthur sent Elyan and Percival to check the perimeter. Before he could instruct Gwaine, the exhausted knight suddenly sprinted into the clearing, jumping over the cracks and fallen trees, heading towards the opposite edge. "Gwaine!" Arthur whispered harshly, but the man was already more than halfway across, almost to the new, rough path. Arthur swore under his breath, and sword in hand, slowly followed Gwaine across the clearing.

Arthur looked around him, cautious as to whether the sorcerer was still nearby. A shiver ran up his spine when he looked down into one of the cracks. The cracks were not wide, but were very deep, and Arthur was glad that they were no wider than his hand. Gwaine had skidded to a stop and stood frozen at the edge of the glade, next to a pair of splintered trees. Once close enough, Arthur opened his mouth to berate Gwaine for breaking protocol, and abruptly closed it when he saw what Gwaine was fingering in his gloves. It was a sodden scrap of light navy cloth, more familiar to Arthur than anything.

Merlin had been here.

With the sorcerer.

 _Oh gods._ Arthur gripped his sword tighter, trying not to drop it as a sudden weakness surged through his arms. Though Arthur's voice didn't crack when he finally spoke, it still sounded too rough and too forced to be his usual, cool tone. "Where did you find that?"

Gwaine didn't speak, only nodded his head towards one of the damaged trunks. Arthur scrutinized the tree a moment, then his eyes were drawn down the broken path. This time it was Gwaine who called after Arthur, as the King suddenly jumped down the path, tripping once on a fallen tree limb, as he raced to a fixed point in the distance.

Arthur heard his men romping through the mess trying to get to him, but he kept his gaze ahead, closing in on what he had seen from the clearing. There, hanging limply from an uprooted bush, was another piece of cloth, a rusty red this time. Most likely from Merlin's jacket. Merlin had come this way, probably to get away from the sorcerer. And the sorcerer had followed him, judging by how the track continued.

Arthur resumed his hike down the ragged, torn path, his pulse racing as he found more evidence of Merlin's flight and the sorcerer's persistence in following and destroying anything in his way. Or her way. Arthur's anxiety spiked as he imagined Morgana smirking as she happened across Merlin gathering herbs in the dark—alone, and far enough away that no one would hear him scream.

Even as he felt himself sicken at the thought, Arthur talked himself out of it. Morgana was powerful, but if she had the power to create storms and shake the earth as violently as it had last night, she would have destroyed Camelot long ago. No, this was someone else. Someone more powerful than Morgana. The only thought that was more chilling than that, was the fact that Merlin had stumbled upon that someone.

Arthur dreaded what he would find at the end of the trail. Would it be like his dream? Would he find Merlin curled on the shore of a lake, sopping wet, injured, and exhausted? Or would he find something worse. Was this just a trail leading him to his friend's broken, lifeless body?

"Arthur, stop! Or at least slow down!" Gwaine's voice sounded slightly muffled and quite a ways behind him. But Arthur didn't stop, nor did he slow down. He had to know. He had to see. Even if his mind was feeding him horrific images of what he would find, Arthur could not stop until he reached the end. Arthur pushed past a displaced hedge with a grunt of frustration.

The trail of destruction ended abruptly, as if someone had cut off the end with a knife. And Arthur knew that he had found something infinitely worse than what he had been imagining.

He found nothing.

There was no sign, no trace, of Merlin or the sorcerer. There was nothing but still, silent trees—untouched, unmarred. _No. No, this isn't right. Merlin was here, he should be here. This is where I find him. There should be a lake. Where's the blasted lake?!_

There was a sea of trees, but no water in sight, not even a small stream, let alone the vast lake from his dreams. The tense silence broke when Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival burst through the uprooted bush behind him. Gwaine, who was about to broadcast his frustration with Arthur to the entire forest, was quickly shushed by Percival. Still worried about the presence of a powerful sorcerer, Percival murmured softly, "Arthur, what…?" But before he could finish asking his question, Percival, and the other knights, finally took in the sight of the unbroken forest in front of them.

"What? No, that … that can't be it. Where is he then?" Gwaine did not yell, but spoke quietly, exhaustion and anguish pinching his face. Elyan only stood, dazed and confused. Percival moved to put a hand on the King's shoulder, but Arthur finally snapped.

Arthur ran from the others, and began making his own little patch of destruction. He pushed through bushes, scoured the ground, bent down tree branches. He knew he was making quite the racket, and his hands and face were soon peppered with small scratches, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that he find the trail again, find anything that could point him in the right direction—to where Merlin was. Arthur grew desperate in his search, and ended up tearing branches out of trees rather than just bending them.

There was nothing. There was nothing there to lead him down the right way—no marks, no clues, no trace.

Nothing.

With one more vicious tug on the branch in his hand, Arthur finally screamed in anger, frustration, and distress.

"MERLIN!"

Arthur's angry echo faded, and the silence turned heavy. Arthur stood in shock, mind reeling. Arthur had thought that finding Merlin dead was the worst outcome that could come from the search. But he was wrong. Not knowing was much worse. Not knowing if Merlin was near or far, dead or alive, safe or tortured, captured or lost was agony. Arthur had no idea, and it was killing him.

Arthur's breath came out in small stuttered gasps, as he clenched and unclenched his fists over and over. He looked again at the still trees that mocked him with their quiet serenity; they stood selfish and uncooperative as they refused to reveal to him where his servant had gone. Though he knew Merlin would not hear him, Arthur's pride crumbled completely as he quietly asked, begged for his friend to appear, to be alright—to come bumbling into sight with that stupid grin on his face.

"Merlin … please." _Not you. I can't lose you. I just lost my father, I can't lose my friend, too._

Arthur had no hope for an answer, and was afraid that the thick silence would be the only answer he ever got. Arthur jumped slightly when a hand rested on his shoulder. He turned and saw Gwaine, who looked as miserable as Arthur felt. "Arthur … we should head back. Rest and regroup, bring some more men down here."

Arthur nodded mechanically, but did not move. He felt rooted to the spot. Perhaps if he stayed here long enough, he'd see something. Hear something. Find something. Gwaine shook his shoulder again. "Come on, Arthur. We'll come back, we'll find him. We _will_. I promise you that." Gwaine opened Arthur's hand, and placed the scrap of Merlin's blue neckerchief in it. Arthur gripped it tightly, and finally turned away from the still trees.

* * *

Arthur let himself be led back to the clearing, back to the horses, back to Camelot. He slowly trudged into the council chambers. Gaius was not there, which was some comfort. But it only prolonged the hurt and shame Arthur would feel when he finally told the old man that he had failed, that he had not brought Merlin home safely. Leon asked with his eyes if the search was successful, and Arthur gave a stiff shake of his head. Leon frowned slightly, sadness tainting his eyes, but Arthur could see that Leon was not surprised at the news. He probably suspected it when Merlin had not followed Arthur into the room.

Upon the King's entrance, and immediately after Arthur sat down, Agravaine began his report. Leon also added a few things. But Arthur heard nothing and said nothing. His mind was still back in the forest, at the edge of the rough path, staring at hell itself. He never thought hell would be so green or so quiet.

Arthur must have looked awful, because after only a half hour, Leon suggested the King retire to his chambers for proper rest. Arthur murmured his agreement, and left the room, not knowing, not feeling all of his counselors' gazes cutting into his retreating back.

He walked into his bed chamber, and instantly noticed that someone had cleaned up, and had even brought in a new wardrobe. The room was overly clean, and filled with such a feeling of wrongness, that Arthur almost stepped back out again. He knew it had to be done, but he couldn't help thinking that the servants, in cleaning his chambers, had erased every trace of Merlin from the room as well. It didn't feel like home anymore. It felt cold. Empty.

Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, and put his head in his hands. In just one night, everything had changed, had come crashing down on him. Arthur thought on the previous morning, after he had spent the entire night standing vigil over his father's body. He had opened the door and found Merlin there, waiting for him.

" _I didn't want you to feel that you were alone."_

And he hadn't felt alone in that moment. Arthur had been moved by what he saw and heard, and had said how he truly felt.

" _You're a loyal friend, Merlin."_

But now his loyal friend was missing. Gone. And Arthur had never felt so alone in his entire life.

* * *

 **A/N: Phew… another chapter done. For some reason, it takes me twice as long to write Arthur's chapters. (Probably because they are twice as long as Merlin's chapters.) But my creative juices seem to flow better and faster when I'm writing Merlin. Merlin's chapters tend to spill out of my head rather easily.**

 **Thank you, thank you, thank you for following, favoriting, and reviewing. Your support and kind words are greatly appreciated. You guys are the best.**

 **So… about the Lake. A lot of you mentioned in your reviews about Arthur following Merlin's trail of destruction to the lake, and you all probably expected a confrontation. I had always planned for Arthur to follow Merlin's path, but he was never going to find Merlin at the end of it. Gaius said in the show that mortals only glimpse Avalon when they are about to die, right before they pass on. So no mortal alive and kicking can see the Lake, which means no one could see Merlin on the shore. Merlin is one of the only ones who can travel to and from the Lake because he is not a mortal, but an immortal—like those who live in Avalon. That's my take on it anyway.**

 **I could go on and on about my thoughts on Avalon, but I'll stop here. Chapter 8 is already written and mostly revised, so it should be out shortly. (And we'll finally check back in with Merlin. Arthur sort of took over there for a while.)**

 **Posted: 6/3/17**


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Just an experiment, to see if this will keep my title centered._

 _I might as make this a disclaimer line, too: I do not own Merlin._ **  
**

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 8**

* * *

"I, schooled in misery … know where speech is proper and where silence."

-Aeschylus-

* * *

Merlin groaned as his aching, cold body dragged him from the comfort of a dreamless sleep. A massive headache had settled behind his eyes, and even though his lids were still closed, the weak light of dawn sent spears of pain into his head. A bone-rattling shiver ran up his back, and Merlin gradually noticed the stiff, numb state of his extremities. His feet were blocks of ice, and his fingers felt brittle and frozen, as if he bent them, they would shatter or snap off his hands entirely.

His face was both too warm and too cold—his eyes and forehead burned while his cheeks and nose tingled and stung as if covered with frost. Merlin swallowed and found phlegm caught at the back of his throat, and in trying to clear it, triggered a series of deep, wet coughs. His lungs contracted and seared in his chest, and each cough sent waves of pain through his aching head—as if someone were pounding a nail into it, hitting harder and harder as the coughing fit continued.

His hacking finally subsided, and, still gasping for breath, Merlin opened his eyes fully. The film of sleep still obscured his vision, but he could vaguely see a thin mist floating over the lake water in front of him. But then the world started spinning, and his headache throbbed more viciously inside his skull. Merlin closed his eyes again, but even in the darkness behind his eyelids, the spinning continued, a slow and clockwise spiral, turning his stomach with it.

As Merlin tried desperately stem the gut-churning nausea, another ache made itself known. His magic. It had never felt this way before. It felt sore and bruised, and sent tremors of its own through his already trembling body. Little flashes of memory reminded him of what had happened last night, what he had done with his magic.

The spinning finally stopped, but Merlin kept his eyes shut, and was reluctant to move. He felt beyond awful, and the cold reminded him of the hell he had gone through after his run-in with the Dorocha. But during that time, Merlin had suffered and endured it, because it had saved Arthur. So it had been worth it. Now, though, he had brought it upon himself without the same noble purpose, and he couldn't help feeling he deserved the pain this time.

Merlin imagined and heard angry voices reply to that thought—his mother, Gaius, Gwen, all yelling at him for thinking that way, telling him he deserved better, that he always deserved better. But he couldn't imagine Arthur saying that, couldn't hear Arthur's voice. And then suddenly he did, and it drowned out the kinder voices. Arthur's phantom voice was harsh and callous. He said magic killed his parents. Magic was pure evil. So Merlin was pure evil—that Merlin _should_ suffer for what he had done.

Merlin mentally turned away from his depressing thoughts as his headache gave a rather painful throb that traveled through his head and into his neck. Thinking and remembering hurt too much.

With another groan, Merlin managed to move his stiff left hand, which was stretched out in front of him, and used his palm to knead his pulsing forehead. Merlin let out a small sigh as his icy hand cooled his fevered skin.

A brisk wind descended on the lake that went straight through Merlin. Shivering, Merlin almost lost his lunch again as the shudders violently rattled his abused body. He ventured a look at the lake again, and saw that the sky was overcast. The sun had risen higher and hidden itself behind a mantle of clouds. Though the mist was beginning to disperse, the morning was still bitterly cold. He had to get warm, and fast.

Merlin held out his hand, and winced as his bruised magic quivered inside him. " **F-f-forb-bearnan** …" Merlin's voice croaked, and he worried that his stuttered spell wouldn't work, especially since he didn't have any actual wood to help keep the fire going. But his magic seemed to stretch inside him, and the few sparks from his palm grew into a modest flame. His magic still ached, but also felt a little better, as if he were stretching a sore muscle. So he fueled the flames some more, until a good sized campfire floated just above the shore in front of him.

Warmth washed over him, covering him in a blanket of heat. The bright flames aggravated his headache, but that was nothing to the relief the rest of his body felt. He shifted and pulled out his right arm—which had fallen asleep under his side—to better warm both his hands. After his front had thawed, Merlin rolled over with a grunt, to warm his frigid back. This, however, gave him full view of the ruined forest that he had only glanced at last night. And with the sight of the devastation, the devastated feelings of the previous day welled up inside him. Merlin turned away, rolled back over to face the flames again, despite his back still being a little too cold for comfort.

Though he had physically left Camelot, he still felt trapped, and he wasn't sure how to stop that feeling. Despite the dangers and difficult situations, ever since being told of his destiny, Merlin had known what to do, or at least known the general direction to go and where his path was taking him. But he had now reached a dead-end—a dead-end that had dropped him into a hole that was too deep for him to climb out of. He had absolutely no idea what to do.

He just wanted to go home. But he wanted to go to a home where he didn't have to hide anymore, where he didn't have to lie through his teeth every day in order to survive, where he could just be himself. Was that too much to ask? It was the only reward he sought—he had said as much to Arthur, in the guise of Dragoon. He didn't need gold or land. He didn't need recognition or glory. He was just so tired of being hunted and hated. He only wanted a home instead of a cage. He had tried to build one, and it had come crashing down on him, destroyed by Morgana's scheming, Arthur's ignorant hatred and willful misunderstanding, and Merlin's own inadequacy.

* * *

A loud crack in the fire made Merlin startle awake. He hadn't realized he'd drifted back to sleep. The cheery blaze had melted the ice in his bones, and he felt all the better for it. He started to stretch when another pop sounded through the air. Merlin's brain finally caught up with him when he realized the sounds had come from behind him. And it was stupid to think that the fire had made those sounds, seeing as his fire was magical and there was no wood to make any popping noises. An invisible fist squeezed his heart, and Merlin quietly rolled over to look at the injured forest behind him. There was rustling in the undergrowth, and fear tore at Merlin's insides. Someone was near. Very near. Merlin started when the rustling became louder, and an angry grunt sounded through the trees.

Merlin knew that voice.

And that made it worse.

Sick with guilt and a hint of last night's anger, Merlin turned away from the noises and curled up in front of his fire again. The rustling stopped a moment, and Merlin heard other muffled voices, but could not tell who they were. The relative stillness was broken when the crashing in the woods resumed and became more violent and desperate, as if someone were ripping bushes out. Then the new King of Camelot screamed out his manservant's name.

"MERLIN!"

Merlin flinched at Arthur's volume and tone. He sounded angry. And hurt. Had he found out? Had Arthur come to arrest him? Had he finally put two and two together—that Merlin was a sorcerer, and the one responsible for Uther's death? Had Arthur followed Merlin's path right to him, to make him pay for his crimes?

Merlin's panic sparked another coughing fit, and once he was able, he took a few deep breathes to calm himself down. No, that didn't make sense. Arthur didn't know that Merlin was Dragoon. Arthur didn't know Merlin had magic. Arthur didn't know anything.

The sounds coming through the trees stopped abruptly, and Merlin found himself turning his head slightly towards the gently-sloped hill behind him, wondering if they had heard his coughing and labored breathing. He hoped not. All was still until Arthur spoke again, softly this time. It should have been impossible to hear the whispered words, but Merlin suspected his magic let him hear them as clearly as if Arthur stood right behind him.

"Merlin … please."

Arthur sounded just as broken as when his father had died. Perhaps even more. Merlin knew he should get up. He should answer his friend. He should go and take his place by Arthur's side. He should.

But he couldn't.

How could he face Arthur now? What would Merlin even say, or do? But Merlin bitterly realized that he knew exactly what he would have to do—what he had always done before. He would have to lie, make up another ridiculous story, slip back into his cheerful manservant façade, and hide behind his smile. And then he would be bundled back to his citadel cage, to live out his days in shadowed misery.

He couldn't make himself do it anymore.

So Merlin remained still and waited in silence. There was more rustling, and then the muffled voices faded as Arthur, and those with him, left.

Long after they were gone, though none would ever hear him, Merlin whispered his response to Arthur's last plea.

"No."

* * *

 **A/N: Man, I'm just giving Merlin a rough time. Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, and for the favs and follows. I was so tempted to post this chapter right after I posted Chapter 7, but I held back so that I could get the next few chapters mapped out and written. Next chapter will also be a Merlin chapter, and after that… well, let's just say that the next storm is on the horizon.**

 **Posted: 6/7/17**


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin  
_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 9**

* * *

"When one door of happiness closes, another one opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which had been opened for us."

-Helen Keller-

* * *

Merlin slept so often, he had a hard time keeping track of the days. Without his routine, and with his ailing body still healing, time lost all meaning. He woke up late one morning and realized he couldn't remember what day it was, or exactly how long he had been at the lake. One thing he did remember, and often, was Arthur's visit to Avalon's boundaries. He couldn't forget it even if he wanted to, because there had been regular searches since then. But there was one glaring difference—Arthur had not joined any since the first. Or if he had, he'd not said a word while there. That wasn't like Arthur, so Merlin assumed the King had stayed in his castle. Merlin didn't know whether he should feel worried or relieved that Arthur chose to remain in Camelot for the remaining searches for him.

Even though he knew they couldn't see or hear him, Merlin took to hiding in a rough shelter he had conjured and stifling his sneezes and coughs whenever he heard the telltale sounds of another patrol searching for him. Merlin still wasn't sure what to think about all this. He'd gone missing for brief periods before, and Arthur had never bothered himself about it before. But this time he'd only been gone one night, and now Arthur was tearing up the forest looking for him. That wasn't like Arthur, either, and Merlin couldn't help feeling jumpy and stressed every time he heard a new patrol rifling through the bushes just beyond the lake. Merlin wondered what Arthur had in store for him if Merlin did show his face. For days, Merlin switched from being lethargic and drowsy to tense and anxious as he waited for the overly loud search patrols to move on.

Why? Why was Arthur so bent on finding him? Merlin was still suspicious that Arthur had found something out, something Merlin had done, and that he was only determined on finding Merlin in order to punish him. But part of Merlin wanted to believe it was because Arthur cared about him—Arthur _had_ finally admitted and called Merlin his friend the day of his coronation. A loyal friend even.

Yet, that memory didn't hold much warmth for Merlin anymore. If Arthur knew, if Arthur even suspected who Merlin really was and what he'd done, he would _never_ have called Merlin a friend. And that hurt to contemplate. Even if Arthur ever did see Merlin for who he was, he wouldn't see past the stigma of his magic, wouldn't see the good he had done. Arthur would see only evil and another vile traitor where there had once been a friend.

* * *

Merlin dreamed vividly that night—a nightmare, though he wouldn't have called it that a few weeks ago.

He dreamed of Albion.

He and Arthur were standing on the battlements, watching the sunrise. They looked slightly older—Arthur wore a more intricate crown than the one he'd been crowned with, and Merlin's attire was fine and expensive. That said, the two looked rather rumpled, food stains on their clothes and both sporting tired faces, as if they'd stayed up all night at a banquet. Arthur turned to Merlin, a warm smile on his face. "Do it again."

"Honestly, Arthur, you're like a child, asking me to do things over and over again."

The King gave Merlin a little shove at the insult, but he still smiled. "What if I said please?"

"And what would the other kingdoms think of the High King, begging for magical treats from his warlock?" Merlin smirked, but raised his hand anyway. He did not speak a spell aloud, but his eyes flashed golden. Flames from the nearby torches pulled away and formed into moving images of creatures—falcons, dragons, bears, unicorns, griffins, and wolves. The images swerved and danced around each other, though as the sun began to peak over the edge of the sky, they became harder to see. As the sun rose fully, the images began to fade and the flames returned to the empty torches. The non-magical creatures faded last.

Arthur, a twinkle in his eye, said, "Your last one was better." The King looked over in confusion when Merlin didn't respond to the taunt. His confusion turned to concern when he saw the warlock's bewildered face and watery eyes. "Merlin? What's wrong?"

Merlin then turned to his King, tears now streaming freely down his cheeks, but they proved to be tears of joy as a genuine grin had spread across his face. "Nothing, Arthur. Absolutely nothing."

* * *

Merlin woke to another dreary, overcast day. His magic had completely healed days ago, but his body was still catching up. But this particular morning, his head was clear, his aches were gone, and only his coughs and sneezing stubbornly remained. Despite his improved health, Merlin felt empty. And thinking on his recent dream, the emptiness only increased. It was somehow worse than his usual nightmares—the ones where Arthur arrested him, beheaded him, hung him, burned him alive. This new dream mocked his pain, showed him what he longed for but would never have—a world where Arthur not only accepted, but even asked for Merlin's magic, with a smile on his face. It was so strange, so bizarre, so wonderful.

The dream only served to cement the wretched feeling that had taken up residence in his chest since Arthur's coronation. In that moment, as he sat gazing at the lake, contemplating his nightmare, Merlin felt betrayed. He had been betrayed by destiny. Merlin had been promised a place in the world and a purpose—worthy king to protect, who would accept and bring magic back to the realm. And Merlin had thrown himself into his duty, done everything he'd been asked to do.

Well, not everything. Memories of Kilgharrah's voice raged in his mind, telling him to kill Mordred, to kill Morgana, to let Uther die. He had always hated how most of the dragon's counsel seemed to involve killing someone. He could only imagine how angry the dragon would be when he found out about Merlin's recent attempt to heal Uther, and how the end result had made Albion a delusion, nothing more than a passing daydream.

But regardless, Merlin had sacrificed all he had to bring destiny about. And it all had been thrown back in his face. The feeling of the wasted days, the feeling of his wasted life, the tragedy of all the other lives sacrificed in the name of destiny made Merlin want to weep again. Or throw up.

Merlin began to doubt it was destiny at all. If it had been destiny for Arthur and him to unite the kingdoms, and bring magic back, then why had it all gone so wrong? At every turn, something happened to set Arthur's heart against magic. Was it all a lie? Was it all a hoax, drivel fed to him by a dragon desperate to escape his chains?

If Gaius were here he would have said, no. It is not a lie. Arthur needs you. You can still salvage destiny. Things are not yet set in stone.

But Gaius wasn't here. Merlin was alone. The dream was fading, and Merlin felt himself waking up to cold reality. Camelot would be forever closed to him and his kind. And with sorrow in his heart, Merlin knew he could never go back. He would not live his life suffocating in the shadows any longer.

But then what? If he couldn't go to Camelot, then where? He couldn't stay at the lake forever. It was too close to Camelot, and he'd already almost cleaned out what little food there was to be found near its shores. And he couldn't go back to Ealdor. He still would not be free to use his magic in his home village, so it remained just as much a cage as Camelot was. And his mother, he was sure, would be very disappointed in him. And a part of Merlin knew that she might have power to persuade him to return to Arthur's side, back into the life he was so desperately trying to escape.

Merlin stood up, and chucked a stone into the lake. He picked up a few more, and threw them as hard as he could, seeing how far across they would go. Merlin felt the suppressed anger inside him rise again, and he threw bigger and bigger stones, enjoying watching as the explosive splashes grew in size.

 _Stupid dragon. He told me all that destiny jargon back before I was a dragonlord. Could he have lied to me? And the druids, what if they…_

 _The druids._

Merlin dropped the large rock in his hand, and felt something flutter in his chest. Yes. He could go to the druids; they would welcome him with open arms. He would be able to use magic freely with them, maybe even find some proper teachers. Away from Camelot, away from anyone who rejected magic, Merlin would have time to study, to improve his skills, truly stretch his limits without fear. And he could protect them. Even though he could not bring magic back to Camelot, he could at least ensure magic's survival and the safety of its people. And where better to protect people like him than in their midst?

And if Merlin found he couldn't or didn't want to stay with the druids, there had to be other places where magic was accepted and taught rather than rejected and feared. If not here on the isles, then maybe somewhere on the Continent, or in the East.

Though Merlin felt his heart clench at the thought of leaving everyone and everything he knew, another part of him grew lighter at the thought of finding a place where he could truly be free. A place where he wouldn't have to hold back anymore, where he wouldn't have to lie anymore, away from all the hate and sorrow. He wasn't sure such a place existed, but if it did, Merlin wanted to find it. He had to find it.

For the first time since his frenzied escape into the forest, Merlin felt something stirring in the air, stirring in his soul. Just because things had gone wrong didn't mean Merlin had to be miserable for the rest of his life. He would, no doubt, always carry with him the guilt of all that had transpired, but he was still free to live his life the way he chose—in the light, not in obscurity. In the open air, not in a cage. Merlin felt the hope flutter again in his heart, and a small smile pulled on his lips.

Arthur could manage without him. It would be hard on him, but not impossible. He wasn't alone—he had the Knights of the Round Table, he had Gwen, he had Gaius. He would not be left friendless. Arthur already had experience running things as regent, and the people loved him. He would manage. But then a niggling little thought pushed into Merlin's mind.

 _What about Agravaine?_

And thinking of Agravaine led to the one person who had ruined everything, who could still ruin his new-found plans for his personal freedom and peace.

 _Morgana._

Rage mixed with guilt swirled in Merlin breast, and it triggered a series of wet coughs. The bitter anger did not subside when his coughing did. In his heart, he still felt partly responsible for Morgana's descent into darkness, but it had ultimately been her choice. She was the one responsible for hardening Arthur's heart against all magic, and she would only continue to threaten all Merlin held dear as long as her eyes were set on Camelot's throne. He couldn't leave and let Morgana have free reign in his absence, unchecked in her evil. He couldn't leave Arthur and Camelot at her mercy. He couldn't leave.

But the hope he had snatched onto was strong, and Merlin quickly brushed away his doubts. If Morgana was somehow dealt with, Merlin would be free to leave Arthur in the safe hands of his knights. If he drove Morgana away, or managed to keep her away from Camelot, Merlin could leave with an, almost, clear conscience.

A dark thought struck him, and Merlin worried that Morgana would only stop being a problem when she was dead. Merlin could still remember the kind woman she had been, and the thought of killing her was still as repugnant as it had been every time he'd had the opportunity. But Morgana was his mess to clean up, and he would not leave until his friends were safe from her malevolence. The guilt he was already carrying was enough of a burden—if anything else happened because he was not there to stop it… Merlin knew he could not leave them completely unprotected.

So, Merlin found he had to plan a little detour on his journey to freedom. He would track Morgana down first, find out what she was up do, and do all he could to stop her. Merlin sneezed violently, but was smiling slightly as he wiped his nose with his sleeve.

After that, _then_ he would be free.

* * *

 **A/N: Again, as always, thank you all so much for your feedback and support. I really do appreciate anyone who takes the time to share their thoughts and opinions on my work. I will never say no to polite, constructive criticism. (And even if it's not polite, I'm still open to reading and considering suggestions for improvement in my writing and story construction.) So thanks everyone!**

 **There was a mention made in a review about Merlin's ability to get sick, and I thought, "Hey, something else I can ramble on and on about!"**

 **I know it is often implied that Merlin's magic protects him from all illness, but I don't think this is necessarily true. In Season 5, in the episode "Death Song of Uther Pendragon," Arthur complains about Merlin's sneezing scaring all the hunting game away, and Merlin responds by saying he might be coming down with a cold. Also in Season 5, in "The Drawing of the Dark," Merlin actually is suffering from a cold at the very beginning of the episode. So according to canon, Merlin can get sick with normal illnesses. It just doesn't happen very often. With exposure to the elements, and all the stress, disappointment, guilt, and overexertion I had Merlin go through in this story, I imagined it would have been hard for him not to get sick. At the same time, I also believe that Merlin's magic does protect him from serious illnesses, and helps him heal quicker than the average person.**

 **Next chapter will be sort of a setting-up-chapter for the figurative storm I mentioned in the author's notes of last chapter. I'm actually kind of nervous about it, but then I'm nervous about every chapter I post, so that's nothing new. I could also tell you that writer's block has struck again, but I get writer's block everyday (no joke). But I've learned that you just have to keep writing, even when you have no idea what to write about, and something good will pop out of your head. So, here's hoping that something good will pop out for Chapter 10.**

 **Posted: 6/12/17**


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin_

 **Caged**

 **Chapter 10**

* * *

"When we begin to build walls of prejudice, hatred, pride, and self-indulgence around ourselves, we are more surely imprisoned than any prisoner behind concrete walls and iron bars."

-Mother Angelica-

* * *

Morgana was restless. Despite Agravaine's habit of barging into her hut for even the most minuscule piece of news, there had been no word from him since the earthquake and storm several days ago. He had been there the day before Arthur's coronation to inform her of Uther's death, but she had felt it herself. And instead of feeling celebratory for her part in her hated father's murder, she felt just as angry—just as empty as before. She knew Arthur would only follow in Uther's footsteps, so nothing had really changed.

Morgana was not yet free to take her rightful place.

But right now, Morgana was more concerned about the disturbing matter of the storm and earthquake. Both had struck fiercely and without warning, and if not for quick magical fortifications on her part, Morgana's hut would have collapsed on top of her. Though she had been inside her small bubble of magical protection, she still sensed how violent and destructive the quake and storm had been. A jab of fear washed over her as she remembered all she had felt that dreadful night. There had not only been magic and power in the air, but also an awful anger that had pierced her to the heart. Someone very powerful had been enraged that night. As Morgana wondered who could have wielded such strong magic, the Cailleach's voice haunted her thoughts, as it had done ever since her encounter with the woman.

" _The one they call Emrys will walk in your shadow. He is your destiny… and he is your doom."_

Morgana suppressed a shiver as she imagined Emrys, faceless and menacing, stalking her every move, seen only out of the corner of her eye, and vanishing whenever she looked over her shoulder. Was it Emrys who had created the storm? What did it mean? Was it a warning for her?

Was her doom nigh, perhaps right on her doorstep?

Morgana huffed a frustrated sigh as she tried to calm her troubled thoughts. It had been days since the storm and quake, and nothing else had happened. Surely Emrys would have made his move if he was indeed responsible for the storm, and especially if he was nearby. There was no need to be anxious; she only had to wait for Agravaine's next report.

And besides, her plans were still moving forward as expected. She may have lost her sister and their immortal army, but Morgana was not without friends. Just as she expected Agravaine, she also expected word from an old friend. Morgana went to her small window and peered out, but there was still no sign of her messenger crow. It had probably been delayed by the storm.

Yes, things were still on track. Things would work out. All the same, Morgana had not stepped one foot outside her hut since the storm had ended. There was no need to tempt fate, after all, if Emrys was indeed waiting for her in the shadows just outside.

* * *

Morgana slept poorly the next few days, despite her healing bracelet. No vision had forced its way out, as had happened in the past, but she still felt something weighing heavily on her whenever she slept. Though curious as to what her dreams would show her, and the opportunity to gain useful information about her unknown enemy, Morgana did not dare take it off. Something was stirring in her magic—in all of magic—as if the world was holding its breath. Morgana did not want to be the one to break the silence, to break the tense anticipation that hung in air. She could only wait.

Thankfully, she did not have to wait too long. Late in the afternoon, at the sound of pounding hooves, she stood behind the door, ready to attack if it proved to be anyone but her sly informant. But Agravaine called to her while still dismounting his horse, and the tension left her shoulders. She sheathed her knife, and sat next to her fire pit. Agravaine opened the door cautiously, by now used to aggressive reactions if he startled his mistress. His hesitant expression smoothed when he saw Morgana sitting calmly by the fire. "My Lady."

"My Lord." As Agravaine took off his gloves and approached, Morgana folded her arms, still brooding about Emrys. "Did you see anyone on your way here?"

Agravaine shook his head. "No one saw me."

Morgana grit her teeth in exasperation and spat out, "That's not what I asked. Did _you_ see anyone while riding here? In the forest?"

Agravaine stiffened at the sudden anger in her voice and answered carefully, if a little timidly. "No, My Lady. I made sure to avoid all the routes of the search parties."

This time it was Morgana who froze in response. "Search parties?" Anger stirring more violently in her breast, Morgana slowly stood, fists clenched. "Why are there search parties so close? If you have–"

Agravaine, sensing his danger, quickly cut her off. "No, Morgana, they are not searching for you. No one knows of your location, I assure you."

Morgana's eyes narrowed. "Then what are they searching for?"

Agravaine's lips twitched into a smile. "A few are hunting for the sorcerer who they believe caused the earthquake and storm–"

Morgana turned away, suppressing a gasp as her mind immediately went to Emrys again. Her heart grew sick with anxiety at the idea of her destined adversary so close—at least until Agravaine finished his statement.

"–but most are out looking for Arthur's manservant, Merlin."

Morgana paused in her reflections, now distracted by the more agreeable bit of gossip. "… _Merlin_? That snake is missing, is he?"

Agravaine's smile widened into a grin. "Better. There is no conclusive proof, but almost everyone believes him to be dead."

Morgana felt the strange stirring in the air and in her magic again, but this time it was accompanied by a more pleasant feeling. Elation. She smiled as she spun around to face Agravaine again. "I think you have much to tell me."

Morgana sat down again, but remained on the edge of her stool, eyes filled with hungry interest, as she listened to the rest of Agravaine's report. Morgana's smirk deepened as Agravaine relayed all that had happened the night of Arthur's coronation and the following days. "How badly weakened is Arthur's city?"

"The damage to the lower town is extensive, but the royal architects believe the citadel itself may also have been compromised by the quake. The bell tower was hit especially hard. The warning bell is being recast, and the tower is being fortified, but it will be a month at least before both can be fully repaired."

Another pleasant detail. Without their warning system, sneaking in and taking over the castle itself would be easier. "And Arthur? How is the newly crowned King of Camelot?" Morgana smiled in anticipation.

"As weak, if not weaker than his own damaged city. All this has hit him very hard. Let's just say that our wish for a broken prince becoming a terrible king is not far off the mark."

Morgana's eyes flashed with delight. "Oh my poor, _dear_ brother. Do tell me more."

"The people whisper of bad omens and vengeful sorcerers infesting the woods, and you can tell it wears on Arthur's confidence. And to lose his trusted servant so soon after losing his father…" Agravaine flashed a triumphant smirk. "Arthur is beyond broken and is more than distracted. He is so set on finding Merlin, that security has been neglected in order to search for him."

Though she already guessed the answer, Morgana asked anyway. "And there has been no sign of the bumbling fool?"

"They didn't find much, but what they did find was located in the clearing where the earthquake originated. They think the boy must have come across the sorcerer in the midst of casting the spell. If he did, there is no chance he would survive such a meeting. I myself have been sent to help the search parties, and after a week of searching, there is still no trace, no trail to follow. There is no doubt in my mind that Merlin is dead."

Morgana stood from her stool, and felt hope rise inside her. Emrys had already given his help and protection to Arthur and Camelot during the Dorocha incident. Surely he would not turn on them now and attack them. No, it was not Emrys who had caused all this destruction; this was not his handiwork. But it was just her luck that an unknown ally had come along and weakened Camelot's defenses for her—and managed to get rid of a meddling servant as well. Morgana felt slight regret at not having the pleasure of killing Merlin herself, but she had more important things to do now.

A sudden cawing outside broke through Morgana's triumphant thoughts, and she quickly ran to open the door. A large crow swooped in, landing on her rough, wooden table. Morgana took the tiny rolled paper off its leg, quickly dodging the crow's attempt to nip her finger. She unrolled the thin scrap, and read the message with darting eyes. As she finished, she crumpled the paper in excitement. "Yes." Morgana turned to Agravaine, who had been fidgeting behind her, waiting for her to share the message's content. "Our moment has come."

"Morgana?"

Morgana shook her fist, the one containing the message. "This, Agravaine, this is what we have waited for. The time is now for the _true_ Pendragon heir to take her place on the throne of Camelot."

Agravaine seemed stuck between caution and excitement. "Are you certain, My Lady? I have said before, that we must wait for the _perfect_ moment."

"And how could it be more perfect than this? Camelot's defenses are weakened. Arthur is falling apart at the seams. My meddlesome poisoner is finally gone. And now I have word that an old sorcerer friend and his men are on their way to join us in our cause—and that they are only days away by now. I would be a fool to ignore this opportunity, especially when the very stars are aligning for me."

Morgana took up her black quill, spilling ink in her haste as she quickly penned a return message before tying it to the crow. She picked up the filthy bird in her hands and threw it out the open door. She stepped outside to watch it fly away. Morgana turned her head slightly as Agravaine also stepped out and stood just behind her shoulder. "Do you want to know something, Agravaine?"

"What, My Lady?"

Morgana's eyes grew distant, and her face adopted a bitter scowl. "I always believed that the universe, that destiny, picked favorites—and Arthur was always the favorite, even as a child. He was the future king, while I was only an orphan Uther took pity on. Uther nourished Arthur's talent with the sword, while he took mine away. When Arthur stood up to his father, he was placed under house arrest. I stood up to Uther and was locked in chains.

"Against all odds, Arthur always wins, and I always fail. But things are different this time—I can feel it." Morgana watched as the crow finally vanished from sight. "Oh, yes. Arthur always was destiny's favorite."

A distant caw echoed through the trees, and Morgana smiled. "But no longer."

* * *

 **A/N: It's been 8 days since the last chapter. I was going to apologize, but then realized that a week and a day between posts is still reasonable. I am sorry about the longer wait, but also not** _ **horribly**_ **sorry since it's not an unreasonable wait. This chapter was a bit of a break from my usual style, and I was so worried about Morgana's voice sounding right and concerned about the amount of dialogue, that I delayed putting this up. Maybe I should put up a sign,** **"Story Under Construction: Expect Delays."**

 **( _Edit):_** **That being said, I've decided to really work out some details in the story, so I'll be working on the next 3-5 chapters at once, so expect a bigger delay for Chapter 11. I won't be posting it until I've done most of the work on the next chunk of the story. I'll post as soon as I can, but it may take a while.** **  
**

 **But, can I just say how much I love it when Morgana freaks out when she sees Emrys, or even just talks about him in the show? Hilarious. It's hard to know how much of that fear to put into this story, because in the timeline, Morgana's only known about Emrys for three episodes (and they didn't even mention him in "The Wicked Day.") And she still doesn't know what he looks like either, which is why he's still a faceless specter in her imagination.**

 **Shout out to my first beta-reader,** _ **ProcrastinationIsMyCrime**_ **, and also to** _ **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**_ **who has been a great support and a great sound board for my story ideas. Another huge thanks to all the reviewers—you guys are awesome!**

 **Next chapter we check back in with Arthur, to see how he's (not) handling everything that has happened to his kingdom.**

 **Thanks once again for all the lovely reviews, favs, and a bunch of new follows as well!**

 **Posted: 6/20/17**


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